Analysand
by RuthieGreen
Summary: Julia tries to analyze her husband & a mystery using real events of 1902. Spoilers: This is an interstitial story dropped in between S8:E13 and S8:E15 picking up on and expanding on small events in S8 I found interesting and unexplored; & maybe an explanation for the lack of romance on screen…..
1. Chapter 1

Analysand

Chapter 1

Monday October 13, 1902

"What is it with murderers wanting to kiss me?"

William laid back on Julia's couch, hands laced over his chest, still favoring his left arm and shoulder. His charcoal grey jacket was off and at her urging, his navy blue tie loosened a little and his top collar button undone. He was watching her goldfish making ellipses in a large glass container in her office. The slanting sunlight glowed occasionally on an orange fin as the creature made its circuit. _Going nowhere, just like this case_, he thought.

"That was no dream this time, William," Julia offered. "Eva Pearce made a direct threat to you." She adopted as neutral a demeanor as possible towards her husband, since he was asking for her professional assistance and she needed as much objectivity as she could muster. She was probably the last person he _should_ be consulting on this in particular, considering she was his wife. She eventually agreed that, in this case, discussing with others was going to be impossible.

He trusted her, he said, so she acquiesced. She kept her voice low and calm, and her body still and relaxed-appearing, with effort. Her right wrist throbbed from banging it around in the fight in C-Ward a week ago. She did not re-break the bone but the blows did not to it any good and it was swollen inside the cast. She kept it elevated on the arm of her chair.

Julia prompted him to continue. "Tell me more about your question. What is your concern?" In another context, and with a smile, his question would have been funny. However, Julia knew he was dead serious. He wanted to explore the connection between two murderers, James Gillies and Eva Pearce with himself, for a clue to break the case and help him catch Miss Pearce, now (theoretically) on the run.

William shifted position and made a face before speaking, his eyebrows coming together. "I do not understand their behavior. It is irrational to risk recapture and incarceration by coming back-why not take advantage of the escape and flee as fast and far away as possible? I understand the motives for most crimes. James Gillies and Eva Pearce made it personal on a whole other level, and I don't know why."

Julia paused before saying, "What do you think?"

"It can't be as simple as revenge, I suppose." William thought a moment and then said, "You told me that knowing more about the victims of crimes can provide information on catching the criminals. I have collected more than one nemesis, if you will. Why? Even the fictional Sherlock Holmes only had one. Simple revenge would be shooting me from a distance and ending my life, not torturing me. The machinations are confusing and dramatic. Too much like an opera."

_Or Penny-dreadful_, Julia thought, but said only, "Go on."

He considered. "I must have attracted them – something about me got them obsessed with me." He found the notion distasteful. "But what? And how can I stop that from happening? And why, for heaven's sake, did they both _kiss _me?"

He was nearly always self-contained _but not always completely self-aware_, she thought. "Think about it William. The persona you present to the world is direct, pleasant yet restrained, upright, intelligent, logical, and relatively unemotional. You keep your own counsel, as it were. Only give the smallest clues away." _You also do not seem to appreciate how physically attractive you actually are, _she added to herself, aware of her own bias in the matter. "That lets anyone read their own desires between the lines."

Julia paused for emphasis and asked again, "How did that make you feel when they kissed you?" Despite her best efforts at stillness, she had to adjust herself in her seat to take pressure off a bruise. William admitting to his feelings was still somewhat foreign territory for him. _I wonder what he will say. _Julia waited.

"Invaded. Angry. Confused. Disgusted," he said firmly. His face flushed.

Julia waited more, letting the silence lengthen. _He will not like it when he gets there_, she thought. Pressing an advantage he believed to be unwanted was an unnatural inclination for him, and to be on the receiving end of one even more so.

He hesitated. "I…er, also felt out of control, and to be honest, frightened." He was disconcerted, but had asked for this consultation. He looked at her for a response, and got none he could discern, other than her calmness and the same careful warmth in her face she showed her patients. He admired the halo of her hair, liked the particular blouse she was wearing with the lace trim, and knew he was stalling. She seemed to expect more. He appealed to her with a look, unsure of where this was going. He was not going to admit to arousal as he was not aware of any occurring, so what was it she was driving at?

She tried again. "And how does that make you feel now?"

The word leapt to his mouth and was out before he could curb himself. "Powerless….I feel utterly powerless." He was surprised and sat up immediately. "They both wanted power over me, didn't they?" He felt on firmer ground all of a sudden. "But to what end?"

"William, what do they accomplish if you are rendered powerless?" Julia asked.

He was talking more rapidly now. "I will not be as capable of catching them and bringing them to justice, and by laying the seeds of self-doubt, it damages my ability to do my job as a whole-they win even if they are caught. And they enjoy another's suffering for the gratification of putting them through it. That's it, isn't it?!" He was starting to feel relieved.

"Yes, William, they are both manipulative narcissists. If they undermine your sensibilities, you are at a disadvantage. In their minds, they thought they knew you, and moreover, thought they knew you better than you know yourself. Mr Gillies and Miss Pearce projected their own fantasies onto you, made up a story about you, created a connection that does not actually exist, and then acted upon it." _Never underestimate the power of a fantasy, especially in a disturbed mind, _she thought silently, thinking of her attack in C-Ward.

He frowned again. "But, Julia, why kiss me? That seems to imply a…er,…sexual motive also," William asked.

_Oh, dear,_ thought Julia. _He is in deep now_. "What answer comes to you?" she asked.

He looked at her, back at the fish and then at her again. He began to gesture. "So, more than just trying to throw me off…more than just power or sadism. They felt a sexual connection also? But I never….." He knew the inexorable pull of desire, and of fantasy. Where his thoughts were going stopped him cold.

She saw his consternation and replied. "No William, you did not give them an invitation to focus on you. The obsession is in the person who is obsessed, not in the object of the obsession. Their ideas about you are much more about them than about you. You had no actual relationship with them. No mutual one at least, beyond your professional duty to apprehend them…."

"You offered them a blank canvas upon which to paint their image of who they wanted you to be. I think you provided a kind of intellectual challenge to Gillies. He believed you matched him in cleverness. I believe, perhaps, he wanted to see himself as Moriarty to your Holmes. I also think he never acknowledged his own homosexuality underlying his choices. By kissing you before he jumped over the bridge he revealed himself—not just to you, but to himself." Julia paused as she saw that information getting absorbed by William. Her husband was familiar now with Herr Doktor Freud's theories on psycho-sexual development.

"And Eva Pearce?" he asked, even more alert to her answer because Miss Pearce was the current threat.

"What do you believe?" she countered.

"She knew, somehow, that my subconscious desired her, and is angry that I did not overtly respond to her?" He made it a question.

"That is part of it. She also believed no man would, or could, ever turn her down, and that all men will act on aroused passions. That, after all was her forte—to make men unable to command themselves." She looked at him more fondly now. "But you were—are—impervious to her, sorely damaging her ego. This is intolerable to her. She will try to use it in some way, some manipulation. She is obsessed with you _because_ you are impervious and unattainable."

"So, how to I stop that?" he demanded, opening his hands, and then closing his fists, putting his thumbs into his palms. His elegantly-made cufflinks flashed, catching the light- her gift to him that he wore all the time now.

_William always wants a concrete problem to solve,_ she thought.

So she said:"Oh, William, you cannot stop what someone else thinks or feels." _And of all people, he should know how impossible it is to derail someone's emotions, _she thought_._ "You will have to accept you _are _powerless over that. Eva Pearce will expect to use some aspect of your personality against yourself—to put you in a double bind of some kind, or use your reflexive habits to trap you. Or try to split you from me to keep you unstable. Your reaction to what she does tells you more about you than about her." Julia tread carefully now.

"William, please lie back down, close your eyes and take a few deep breaths. Empty your mind." She saw him settle back down and do as she asked. After a few breaths, she asked him again, "What do you believe? What is there in common between your actions in response to theirs?"

William struggled with his thoughts and visual images of his encounters with both Gillies and Miss Pearce. "Miss Pearce said I chose her over you, and in a sense I did….more interested in catching her than thinking about your welfare. I ran after her when I saw her flee." He realized he was unaccountably ashamed of this, as if he should have known….. "She taunted me with that." He did not tell Julia that Miss Pearce also assumed he was already bored in his marriage, because that was just absurd.

"Yes, William, go on…" Julia said softly.

"I jumped in the river after Gillies, even when George warned me away from doing so…Even when I warned Gillies he would likely die if he jumped. Gillies said he had nothing to live for…but…I went off the bridge too." He paused and looked at her meaningfully. "I did have something to live for -you…_us_." Shame flooded him again. He mastered himself so he could continue as honestly as possible. "I went after him because he was getting away and I did not want him to get away. It was my duty to stop him," he went rigid at that thought. "And I needed to see him ended, for me to believe we were safe…"

He raised his head. "I asked you at the river where I was pulled out- what you would have done in similar circumstances. But you would have done something different, wouldn't you?" He kept looking at her, at that same warm but neutral presence, but she did not respond. He stopped and then started again. "Is that what she will use against me? That I am predictable in that way?"

"What do you think?" she asked again, trying not to hold her breath.

"Yes, and I think that is what is about me that attracted them. That I do not give up until I get to the truth, sometimes no matter the cost. That I cannot help myself—like a hound that sees a rabbit…." The look on his face shifted again. Julia saw the emotions take turns across his face. "Also that I can be unbending…and that is also the truth, isn't it?" He sat up slowly, uncurled and flexed his hands.

_There it is….That must have been difficult for him—but I must say he took it well_, she thought. This time she reached over and touched his arm gently, catching his brown eyes with her blues ones in a level gaze. "You are in fact predictable. We all are. It is human nature. She is a master manipulator who exploits weaknesses to her advantage. However, for all her innuendo and comments, she really does not know you." Julia sat forward for emphasis. "And_ she does not know that she does not really know you_. That is her flaw. Her obsession with you is a weakness you can exploit."

He was encouraged by that, but suspicious about what that would mean.

"William, don't forget, you knew James Gillies well enough to know he was going to kill his hostage anyways. You turned _his_ predictability against_ him_." She kept her voice firm so as not to betray her anxiety. "William—I am going to be the bait again, whether or not you and I want it so. Because _your _obsession is with _me_." She smiled as he looked over at her, startled. "I stood between Gillies and you and I stand between Eva and you. The way to her gratification is to torture you by separating you from me. Every sadistic fantasy she has is likely building towards that end."

"So, how do I get the power back?" He was working this out now.

"By not doing what is expected," Julia declared. "At least not when it comes to her."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Inspector Thomas Brackenreid was only on his second afternoon scotch in his office at Station House No. 4. He was drinking less and getting along with his wife better. He and Margaret even talked about taking a vacation together to Yorkshire for their 15th anniversary if they could save up enough. _Something to look forward to_. He was even losing a little weight, and thought his vest allowed more movement lately. Adjusting his sleeves, he checked the time on his office pendulum clock. He smiled in satisfaction at the smoothly running activity of the station house viewed through his office windows, took another sip, and sat back down in his high-backed leather chair. His desk was cleared, the wire in-basket empty. For once the new Chief Constable had nothing to newcomplain about. Mostly it was routine police work at hand and he was going to announce that his nephew was about to start on the job. The only dark cloud was Murdoch himself. The note in his hand regarding the detective wrecked his fine mood.

The Inspector was exasperated. _Bloody Hell!_ _What is wrong with that man?_ He had gotten used to the quirks and overlooked the sometimes-superior attitude because Murdoch produced results, and he had come to like the man, _helped him get married for God's sake_, even though they were not particularly close friends. _I am not_ _sure has friends_, he thought uncharitably today, _certainly never heard about a best mate in all these years._ The difference in their ranks was not as important to Brackenreid, but rather, was enforced by Murdoch. _Except when he directly challenges me, like now. _ Brackenreid had hoped married life would settle him down a peg, but thus far, he did not see it happening. Murdoch and his wife seemed to live separate lives already, only months into their marriage.

That brief moment between him and the detective in the station house during the Edison affair had been powerful. Brackenreid looked Murdoch straight in the eye and leveled with him, trying to tell him the truth and get him to act like a proper husband. He warned Murdoch about taking control of his fire-brand wife and rather than appreciate the advice or back down, the man had come back at him stiffly with anger, maybe even a little rage. _What was worse_, he thought uncomfortably, was _I was the one who blinked first._

To be sure, Murdoch was as overtly polite and punctilious as ever, but there was an unexpressed glimpse of frostiness at times between them that was, if possible, worse than when Dr Ogden was living in Buffalo and subsequently married to Mr Garland. Back then, he thought Murdoch had gone a little crackers, what with being occasionally insubordinate or publically challenging his authority, but at least Brackenreid thought he understood the man's reasons.

In another man he would expect too much drink was the demon driving him, but Murdoch appeared as abstemious as ever. Gambling? _No_. An affair? _Never__. _The only sense he could make of it was that there was serious trouble with his marriage. Brackenreid was saddened at the thought, but angry that Murdoch would not take his guidance and counsel. _That man was naïve to think that a successful work record would protect him, or that his reputation was untarnished by the public scandal of adultery with Dr Ogden._ Her murder trial transcript and headlines splashed in the papers made sure of that. _ Sometimes_ _neither Murdoch nor his wife have the common sense the good Lord gave a duck_, _for all their intelligence_, he groused. _Thank God the woman at least gave up running for office_! Brackenreid believed he himself was much savvier in the ways of the world, and the high-minded detective might have to learn the hard way, if he won't heed_. God help him if he does have to learn the hard way_, thought the inspector, _because I won't be able to._

Now Murdoch was exposing himself to even more innuendo and gossip. His wife, Dr Ogden, _never Mrs Murdoch,_ he grunted, was regularly in the public eye at those bloody political events. _Socialist__ political events—close enough to anarchists for me, of all things! _Taking down Chief Constable Giles did not win the detective any friends, and in fact created negative feelings in certain quarters. The Detective disappeared mysteriously in the middle of the day, _like today_, and came into the station house at odd hours of the night, while being evasive about why. This list of troubling reports grew week by week. A week ago Murdoch had allowed a murderously mentally ill woman to elude his grasp, and to top it off, he was apparently making wild accusations about his investigation into the July 10th fire, expressly against orders.

The fire 3 months ago was the largest loss of firemen in the history of the Toronto fire department. There had been a full page memorial in the newspaper with the five men's pictures under the banner, "Faithful Unto Death." Brackenreid looked over at the page where he had posted it on his office wall as a remembrance.

Brackenreid had been there at the fire scene that July morning. It was a horror. The McIntosh Feed Company fire, on a hot Thursday, killed five fireman, when two separate brick walls collapsed on them while they were fighting the blaze. The conflagration's tremendous heat was fueled by hay, straw and other flammable materials that were packed to the rafters, from its previous use as a stables for the Toronto Street Railway Company.

The fire was discovered early in the morning and the building was fully engulfed and out of control by 6:20 am when Fire Chief Thompson called for a general alarm. Crews from surrounding stations responded rapidly and the whole city knew something was up because of the noise of the fire wagons and the distinct smell and the choking black smoke that billowed throughout the city. The heat of the fire damaged the structures around it and threatened to take out adjacent buildings. The explosion itself was heard blocks away. Fires were nothing unusual in a city still lit in many places by oil or kerosene lamps, and all cities were vulnerable to fire because of the closeness of the buildings, the lack of men and water to fight them, and often the building materials themselves. Even improved building codes and brick or stone construction was no guard against disaster, especially if the content of the building fueled the burn or the building was poorly made.

According to the preliminary investigation, the first wall collapsed without any warning, pinning firemen Adam Kerr, David See and Harry Clark from the Lombard Fire Hall. Men on the scene risked their own lives to free them, fighting the blistering heat. During the rescue attempt, an explosion shook the ground as another wall to the south gave way, crushing Walter Collard from the Ross Avenue Fire Hall and Fred Russell from the Yonge Street Fire Hall. It took a quarter hour to find See and Clark, but it was too late. They had already perished. It took several more hours to knock down the blaze. Adam Kerr was eventually found a few feet away from where See and Clark had lain. A sixth man was saved only because he had gone to attend to the water supply for the hose. The smoking rubble took days to cool.

The civic funeral the Sunday after was observed by thousands who waited outside in the heat by St James Cathedral at King and Church Street to pay their respects. The procession took over an hour to pass any one spot along the route from the cathedral to Mount Pleasant Cemetery on Yonge. Brackenreid, his family and most of Station House No. 4 had been on hand to pay respects.

At one time the constabulary and fire department shared the same building so that the police and firemen remained longtime friends. Station House No. 4 had been involved in the aftermath of the tragedy and felt the loss keenly—public servants banding together out of need and preference, as public service did not pay well nor was it generally respected. The exception was tragedies like the July fire, where the public mourned a public loss.

Dr Grace had been only able to do preliminary autopsies on the fallen men, before their bodies were released for the wakes and mass funeral. Her conclusions were that the men died in the line of duty. The fire was started by a lantern that was left burning over night by mistake. The heat ignited some stray papers in the office, and the sparks rose and started the hay and straw. The fire burned slowly at first and then at some tipping point, flared up and out of control rapidly. An accident, a terrible accident. That was the official account.

Murdoch was still delving into what was supposed to be an open and shut case. The building continued to be a pile of rubble that the scavengers had not yet acquired. The site was under guard, as a safety precaution so that no one got hurt by trespassing. The clearing and rebuilding was supposedly delayed because of the question of ownership and payout from an insurance policy. Murdoch was asking questions, poking into reams of files and accounts, talking to some of the men on scene that day and generally making a pest of himself. He seemed to think there was something fishy and was investigating what he thought of as loose ends. Brackenreid initially gave him some leeway—especially since he was "following the money" but that angle was exhausted weeks ago. Unfortunately, now all Murdoch was doing was stirring the rumor mill. Brackenreid was getting the message that the detective was impugning the memory of five fallen heroes and needed to desist. _Now._

_Bloody Hell! I accuse Murdoch of losing control of his wife, and I am losing control of him! _The inspector grimaced and refilled his glass. _And now this, _he reflected miserably on the paper in his hand. Brackenreid was going to have to take care of this one way or another. He grimly considered his options before deciding on a plan. _I hope I can get to him soon enough,_ he sighed to himself.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

William reviewed his consultation session with Julia on the bicycle ride back to the Station House, lost in thought. Therefore he nearly collided with a wagon that failed to stop at a crossing, with the horses bolting through the lane. The abrupt jerk on the handlebars pulled on his left shoulder and made him wince. He turned the problems over in his head, but could find no flaw in Julia's argument. He found himself getting angrier. _Juggling one more investigation that was not fully supported by Inspector Brackenreid._ Constable Crabtree and Dr Grace were willing to go a little extra for him, and he was very grateful, but very aware that he was putting them at risk for getting on the outs with the Inspector.

Since the massive shake-up in the constabulary ranks after Chief Constable Giles' departure, there had been a series of realignments in the Station Houses. Death, retirement and someone else's advancement were the only ways to get ahead. The detective had hoped that a promotion might have been offered to him for an Inspector's post, considering he was first canvassed for it nearly 7 years ago. He was the most senior detective, or if not, certainly had the best record. He did not think Brackenreid would block him, and considering how oddly frayed their working relationship had become lately, perhaps it would be a relief to them both. Unfortunately, the idea of a promotion (and the 15% raise in pay attached to it) was as elusive as ever. He was slowly facing the realization it was unlikely he will rise further in the constabulary, so it was not something he could count on in his future. _Their future_. _At least I can provide Julia with my pension_, he reasoned, _that's something._

Constable Crabtree, however, certainly could and should be put forward; it was one area on which he and the inspector fully agreed. George was more than up to the job, ably proving that during what William thought of as the "killer corset" case. It was a matter of timing, but the constable deserved the chance, at least.

When he got to work, he was grateful the inspector was at a meeting, so his movements would not be questioned. Surprisingly, there was no one in the bull pen, no mail for him to open, and nothing pressing for him to take care of. Examining his watch, he decided he could take a little more time for himself. Gathering his things, he turned around and left.

######

William put the box he carried on the table in the small stone room. _The damp is not too bad today_, he thought. The guard left the door open as he worked quickly, setting up the box's contents under the small, high window. He removed slices of bread and cheese from a small brown bag, and used the bag as a serving plate. The guard brought the prisoner in, unlocked and removed the shackles and closed and locked the door behind him.

"Good afternoon, Murdoch," the man said as he sat down to the chessboard.

"Good afternoon. I believe it is your turn to go first this time. Shall we?"


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Julia made her clinical notes at the roll-top desk in her office and fed her fish before wrapping up for the evening. Her physical discomfort climbed as the day wore on, and it was hard to find a comfortable position owing to her bruises. Her right wrist and fingers hurt, so the notes were brief and sloppier than her usual penmanship.

The session with William recalled her psychiatric training in Vienna. In order to complete her education she had to submit to analysis herself, some of which was excruciating as well as revealing. She empathized with William's discomfort in exposing his fears and internal conflicts, and she appreciated his honesty with her and the trust that implied. After a few months of marriage, they were still getting to know one another on this new plane of intimacy.

_If I am to be honest I must admit I give him mixed signals at times. _ William was loosening up with her, revealing the shyness, humor and playfulness that he seldom exposed to the world. He occasionally allowed himself ungoverned passion. e alsol occasionally Along with his virtues, he was also occasionally revealing his stubbornness, implacability and pride. _Well,_ she thought wryly, _I married all of him._ She smiled. _I am stubborn too. _

She briefly considered her own private analysis of her husband. He certainly possessed a strong Superego and healthy, mature Ego. He was more conscious of both than many people, possibly because of his natural inclination and certainly his chosen line of work. _Then there was his Id._ William had a fatal flaw regarding women, one that he did not credit, but even Inspector Brackenreid correctly read. _Intelligent, attractive women in distress_. She hesitated to explore that any further.

She reflected that William's childhood experiences must have great bearing on the man he became and the choices he made. As far as she knew, he did not think too deeply about his father essentially telling him that he was responsible for his own mother's death. William allowed no conversation on the matter, but Julia privately believed his father was just blame-shifting onto a frightened boy.

She wondered how closely her husband modeled himself on his mentor, the old priest Father Keegan. William's Jesuit education certainly allowed his natural intelligence and other gifts to blossom. His near-eidetic memory did not hurt either, coupled with an analytical mind. She believed her husband was well-placed in his police vocation, as Seeker of truth and justice, and his work gave him a place for his quick and creative mind to run with puzzles to solve. That same curious mind also might have led to trouble in another line of work. _He might have made a decent priest or teacher_, she thought, but suspected he would have been a rigid, possibly joyless one, certainly without the intervening life experiences that shaped him. Even now, he enjoyed the order that tames Chaos.

On the other hand, while many men are more certain about their opinions as they age, William, instead, was more doubtful, more questioning, willing to struggle at times with his conscience. _He can change his mind._ She liked this side of him.

_There are so few role models for the life we are forging together, _she complained to herself.They were finding their way, and while it was neither easy nor friction-free, she would not trade it for the world.

Julia sighed again. _"We agree to stand together, no matter what comes our way,"_ he said. What they had not figured out was what, if anything, there was to do with the inevitable approbation and misunderstanding. Mostly each of them just closed the subject off as none of anyone's business.

Julia smiled at her musings. Talking about this with each other was challenging enough. Neither knew how to explain themselves to others. _We both live entirely too much in our heads! _She was aware of the irony of her interior monologue's observation, and gave a short burst of laughter.

She was looking forward to dinner with him tonight. It often took him a while to formulate a response, and she assumed he will eventually want to revisit their session today. As the evening was warming up, she also was thinking of proposing a walk after dinner.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Tuesday October 14

This week, Inspector Brackenreid's nephew, Charlie, had been accepted by the police force and the inspector announced he was joining Station House No. 4. Brackenreid asked William to orient the man to the Station House. _He seems a decent enough fellow_, thought William, and was accepting of the assignment.

William spent Tuesday working another case that was developing. Dr Grace had a body in the morgue she recognized as a woman she met the night before at a party. Then Dr Grace's friend, Miss Moss, of all people, had brought what appeared to be stolen jewelry and gold to him for inspection, which she found in a coat she mistakenly picked up at the same party. William spent several hours tracing the jewelry. George happened upon one of the robberies and caught one of the young women. It seemed that there was a gang of women who were apparently stealing fine jewelry from unknown victims.

Julia had Tuesday off and was doing errands in town, so he had a welcome opportunity to consult with her about the case. It felt very good and natural to have her in the station house working actively with him—like old times, except in this role her beautiful burgundy dress was not getting spotted with autopsy remains. Brackenreid was devising a plan to infiltrate the gang, and proposed the notion that Dr Grace and Miss Moss would go "under cover" as it were, to the next party this evening.

#############

Tuesday evening

William thought it was a good thing he saw Julia in the middle of the day, because he got home rather late. It was, all in all, a very long and tiresome day and by the end he was exhausted.

Julia noted the lines that bracketed William mouth were deeper lately and he had dark circles under his eyes. "William, you look tired, and I certainly am." She had waited to eat with her husband, at the small round table under the crystal chandelier in the living room portion of their suite. The fine view of the city was obscured in evening darkness. "I find it exhausting to keep running into road blocks at the hospital. I did manage to procure a meeting this Thursday and I am hopeful I can convince more of my colleagues the benefits of changing treatment in the Wards to make them more humane." She picked at her food and decided a second glass of wine was appropriate.

William responded, "I am also finding difficult going at the station. I have not really decided what I think about our consultation today. I guess I am just frustrated." He picked up and then set down his reading, not even interested in his most recent copy of _Scientific American._ Neither had much energy, it seemed, for additional conversation.

"William, I would like hot bath to get the knots out of my body." She said as she rose to run the water. She knew William, who enjoyed being clean and presentable, was endlessly delighted with the copious amounts of hot water the suite provided, but tonight she got the tub for a soak.

William helped her with her laces and viewed her considerable bruises with a critical eye. They were just now starting to fade towards a greenish-yellow hue. He also appreciated the sway of her hips as she moved away from him towards the steaming bath. She asked him to rub salve on the worst bruises when she got out and dried, and he did so expertly and tenderly. He became angered again thinking about the attack she suffered, but did not comment, because he did not want to provoke an argument tonight. He was too tired.

They had gone to bed early thinking exhaustion would overtake them both, but it was not to be. Oddly wound up from the day, they resumed talking and then began exploring each other.

"Oh, yes, William." Julia groaned.

William's right hand was working the cleft of Julia's thighs. The cast on her right arm, the contusions on her body, and his left shoulder bullet-wound (recovering well-enough now but still painful in certain positions), put their usual marital relations on enforced hiatus for a while. They were therefore making do. _And most pleasantly,_ Julia sighed contentedly. Her thick hair was fanned out on the pillow. Not for the first time she counted herself fortunate to have a detail-oriented lover possessed of fine-motor skills. She loved the well-kept, sensitive and nimble fingers that were currently gliding and stroking her to ecstasy.

William saw her breathing alter suddenly. _There we go_, he thought. She reached for his head, weaving her finger in his hair while pulling his mouth onto hers, and kissed him deeply as she reached her completion.

William smiled. "You are so beautiful," he said to her, kissing her face_._ He loved to see the expressions come over her as the result of his ministrations, and to feel the other physical changes in her body occurring under his hand or fingers. He silently, but gleefully, catalogued them. He had mapped her body in his mind, and loved to revisit the softest areas and explore the new places on her person she offered to him. They were starting to explore each other's bodies more, and their fantasies (which Julia encouraged as being psychologically healthy, but about which he was more reticent.) Sometimes he revisited these moments in his imagination, usually bringing fresh arousal for him, and he caught himself more than once daydreaming when he should have been paying attention to something else, like his superior or his work. _Well, that wasn't going to be the first time... speaking of fantasies…_

Their honeymoon experience was so joyful and exciting much to their mutual pleasure and satisfaction. Previously they had separately and privately wondered, just a little, if some part of their attraction rested on wanting what they could not have, and if marriage would rapidly dull the desire or bring disappointment.

Happily, this was not so. If anything, their relations were deeper and more complete as the months rolled on. Sometimes their lovemaking was more intense, particularly after working on a problem or project together, one of his cases perhaps, when ideas flowed back and forth between them. It was as if that ignited their passions and the physical expression in bed was a natural continuation. Fresh peaks of delight continued to appear and they were expressing some creativity with each other—like tonight. Sharing mutual fears about the nature of their attraction opened up a dialogue that reassured them. Their intimacy was so much more than physical, and a playful quality and the friendship between them were growing as well.

_I would do anything to see him laugh_, Julia thought, looking at his face. _It transforms him, utterly._

Watching her watch him with her blue eyes, and keeping his eyes locked on hers, he decided to take a risk, and brought his hand up to his mouth, slowly tasting his fingers. _The most delicate salt and vinegar… quite sublime,_ he thought. He was gratified this gesture was met with pleasure by his wife.

_William is full of surprises… _Julia thought.His brown eyes were studying her and she noted a twinkle of lust in them under his thick lashes. She smiled wickedly. Her left hand found his body and reciprocated her pleasure with his release.

They slowly drifted off to sleep, after rearranging night-clothes and resuming their customary sides of the bed. As he settled into a comfortable position, William happily wondered if it would be possible for him to put his mouth where his hand had been….They had not said a dozen words, but among them were the most important: _I love you…_


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Wednesday October 15

William helped Julia into her mauve skirt and rose blouse Wednesday morning, doing up buttons and laces with ease as he kissed the back of her neck. _Her scent is intoxicating,_ he breathed it in andobserved his immediate physical reaction_._ He did not mind the arousal. A maid would come and help her with her hair since she could not do it with her arm in a cast—William had not quite gotten the feel for that yet.

Julia had watched William put his own suit on, and was amused at his natural modesty. _He is collecting scars,_ she observed, not for the first time, _and overall looks a little worse for wear… but still so handsome_. She caught herself thinking again that as he groomed and dressed with such deliberation, he was doing more than putting on layers of clothing over his well-built body. _It is not vanity_, she reasoned, _more like a ritual of preparation_. She imagined that he was shedding their intimacy and donning his professional armor for the day, and she could actually see the alterations in his demeanor as he completed the process, knotting his pattered silk tie. He put his watch on his vest, St Michael's medal in his pants pocket and her cufflinks at his wrists. His constabulary shield was the last thing he put on. _It was quite a remarkable transformation_, she thought, _if a bit romanticized_, before launching into her side of the argument.

"William, we have gone over this before. I am certain that we should have one joint account. It is the simplest and most logical thing to do" Julia said, trying to appeal to his rational side.

He poured the tea since her cast made the activity awkward and offered her the toast rack to make her selection.

After Julia sold Darcy's house and contents, she could not in good conscience keep the proceeds. She knew that relieved William terribly, although he had been clear that it was her unilateral decision. She also knew it would have been impossible for him to live off the proceeds of Garland's estate in any way. Fortunately, she had also come to that conclusion independently and for her own sake, so arranged for his parents to receive the net proceeds. While they had spoken in general terms about money before marriage, and Julia insisted all the money was jointly theirs, William was still uncomfortable with that idea. It was not merely pride, he had argued (although they both knew there was a healthy dose of that) but that as an independent adult in her own right, he believed she deserved the proceeds of her labors.

"Julia, that sends the wrong message. We are trying to forge a more modern way of doing things," her husband responded, took a sip of tea and looked up at her from his cup.

They did talk about equality between them as partners. By some quirks of the law, she and her income were in fact his property, and that was not acceptable to either of them. The colloquial term "rule of thumb" was also an excuse men used-the idea a man could legally beat his wife as long as the stick was no larger around than his thumb. This appalled them both.

Financial equality was elusive. He was aware he made less per hour than a master mason or skilled bricklayer, and had expected a doctor would be better compensated. William had been outraged to learn that she was not paid as well as her male colleagues. He understood in a general way that women's wages were lower than men's, as unfair as that was, but he assumed that in a profession the remuneration was equivalent. She did not in fact make _that_ much more than he did per year, despite having become a doctor and attaining a professional appointment as an attending physician.

"_That is one of the reasons why women need the vote, William_," she had argued to him and he quite agreed.

He continued. "By keeping your own money, you retain autonomy. What would your suffrage sisters think?" He tried that gambit to see if it would fly, aware it was unfair.

William recognized that neither he nor Julia was used to having to negotiate with anyone else about money. He knew during her marriage to Darcy, she used her own money however she wished. Before that, she paid all her own bills and spent or saved according to her own dictates. William was very thrifty on his less than $18 a week salary. He lived simply at Mrs. Kitchen's, and only indulged himself with books and expenses for his various scientific experiments and inventions, and upkeep for his bicycle. He did have an excellent tailor and well-made suits, but as he took good care of these, the initial expense was a good investment. On paper, he could afford to have_a__ wife_ and take care of her. The problem was whether he could afford _his__ wife_ and take care of her in the style to which she was accustomed.

"William, that is unfair and you know it!" Julia shot back, buttering her toast. "Partners share things, fully, completely." Julia believed they should have a bank account with both their names on it and some investments. William was content with his Post Office savings account and cash. "Honestly, you are being stubborn in this, as if I don't know my own mind," she threatened.

"Julia! You know it is not that! Speaking of unfair!" William glowered at his wife, then sighed and smiled.

William had acknowledged living at the Windsor House Hotel was turning out to be a mixed blessing. It was more private, certainly, than his original idea about living together at Mrs Kitchen's but not as private as having their own home. They were even interrupted here at the hotel by the demands of her work or his, woken up at all hours for emergencies by a knock at the door. Installing the telephones was an only marginally better solution. On the other hand, there was no maintenance, meals were delivered to their suite to order, and the two elegantly appointed rooms were more space than he had ever experienced before.

The first additions he and Julia made were installing their personal desks, one in the living area and one in the bedroom. He was still working on getting a bigger bed, as the one they slept in did not encompass them well enough. There was a hotel maid to help Julia dress when that was needed. It was also surprisingly much less expensive than he had expected. He could afford half the cost of the accommodations so their first agreement had been to split the expense of the suite. That allowed him some of his pride, and also to rebuild his savings which were sorely depleted-down to perhaps a less than a tenth of what it had been.

"Why can I not decide what to do with my own money? That is your argument after all, that I should have autonomy." Julia countered.

"Julia, maybe we can split the difference," he offered. "Yours, mine and ours. Like our other arrangement." After negotiating about the rent for their rooms, they had eventually agreed she would pay for most of her own clothing and he for his, except for gifts they offered each other. Julia even persuaded him that he should purchase his own set of evening clothes rather than continue to rent them for occasions. He was going back for another fitting this week of a more modern-cut costume, and had to admit a bespoke suit _was _better looking, and he would be more a match for his elegant wife while wearing it. _We do look good together_, he mused, looking at one of their wedding pictures over by the couch. He had even purchased his own top hat after spending time seeking the perfect one and negotiating the price. While their social invitations were not flooding in, they still enjoyed going out on the town.

"So you want us to have three separate places for our money? That sounds, well, insane. How would we ever keep track? And what if something happened to one of us—the other might not have access to the funds." Julia tried again to appeal to his logic and reason, since in this he as being so _unreasonable_.

Since he had anticipated this, he already had an answer. "A solicitor will set up our wills and the account can be structured as joint tenancy. We can select how much goes into our joint account every month and it can be drawn against for our mutual expenses." He went on rapidly before she could interject. "This way we each get part of what we want," he said as he consulted his watch, popped the last bit of toast in his mouth and got up to go to work. He came over with a smile, kissed Julia and said, "I love you, Mrs Murdoch!"

She responded in kind before he grabbed his jacket, water proof coat and left. "I love you too, Mr Murdoch!" and she waved him on. _He outmaneuvered me_, she thought sourly—_the weekly chess games were paying off for him_. Julia thought about it as she assembled her jacket, the rest of her own things, and rang for the maid. _I suppose that went well enough. _ When she finally got her hat pinned on and found her umbrella, she called for a carriage.

On her ride to work she worried at the larger problem little. What was not going well were their discussions about obtaining a house. Julia had money left over from her portion of her father's estate (what had not been spent on the defense at her trial) that could purchase a house for them, but William was adamant that he needed to support his wife and provide their home together.

His argument was that his impulse to protect or provide for her was not the same as possess her or disrespect her. She had more trouble with this, and understood this was one of those areas where she gave mixed signals to him. She wanted to be his equal partner, for his respect and support, and at times wanted him to be more forceful and dominant. If she could not figure out which was which, how was he ever going to be able to?

With the demands of work for both of them, the hotel was ideal and Julia had been right to suggest it, he told her.

Julia, on the other hand was used to living in larger quarters, and hadn't occupied so small a space since her medical school days. Their rooms, as beautiful as their Honeymoon luxury hotel suite in New York, was still getting cramped. They had moved most of their books to their respective offices but their belonging were accumulating. Julia had some items in storage but William had so few possessions he had been able to move it all to their rooms in one small cart.

_Well,_ she thought, _at least we talked about this_. She decided he was right about three accounts, and after all he did say each of them could decide how much to put in the joint one. And that one will probably fund the house, so she was content with the outcome this morning. _If only everything else today goes as well…_


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

"Constable Crabtree! Hurry up, Dr Grace is waiting." William received the summons from the desk sergeant when he arrived at work, and tagged George to accompany him. The coroner had already been asked to the scene by the fire chief, and she in turn requested Murdoch's presence. Crabtree and Murdoch took their bicycles from the wrought iron rack outside the Station House and sped off to the scene. The rain had let up so the trip was not as bad as it could have been. Dr Grace was aware that the detective was interested in any case involving a fire, and in this instance the fire victims appeared to be crime victims also, as well as within his jurisdiction.

Dr Grace was standing next to the morgue wagon, brushing soot (unsuccessfully) off her coat, when they arrived. Her hat was soggy. It was obvious she had not be able to avoid the worst of the rain. The corpses had been pulled from the building by firemen who were called to put the blaze out, and William observed that in the process, the crime scene, such as it was, had been disturbed beyond useful examination.

William greeted her by pulling on his hat brim. "What have you, Dr Grace?"

"Two men. The building was ostensibly abandoned and shuttered, so they may have just been seeking shelter out of the rain last night, or even living there on a more extended basis." Dr Grace knew Toronto had as many as 210,000 souls by some counts, with more pouring in daily, and there was not enough housing for them all. New immigrants were particularly vulnerable to exploitation, recruitment by gangs, and poverty, if there was no other social or ethnic group to which they could appeal for mutual aide. She often encountered the most unfortunate of them in the course of her work.

She continued. "As far as I can tell the cause of death for each was a single blow to the head that I judge may pre-date the building collapsing on the bodies. I will have to examine the remains more carefully in the morgue to discern if that killed them instantly, or the fire did. As you can see, they are badly burned and I think an accelerant was used." She leaned in and inhaled. "Kerosene, perhaps?"

William also sniffed and concurred. "Will you run tests for the accelerant and labs to determine if there was alcohol involved?" He waited while she nodded. "Do you have any other information about the deaths, doctor?"

"Yes, detective, I do. Constable, will you hold this please?" Dr Grace asked George to hold open the blanket and she proceeded to show them what she discovered.

"Fascinating," the detective agreed. William produced his measuring tape, tweezers and notebook from his jacket, to examine and record the information. Dr Grace then took the bodies with her to the morgue.

He and George completed their sketches, witness lists and preliminary interviews as the sky cleared. "What do you think, George?" asked the detective.

"I think it is entirely possible we have a new the connection," answered George, tapping his finger on his own notebook. "What will we do now?"

"Let's see what Dr Grace has on autopsy. But we will not do anything, George. The inspector does not know about the angle I am pursuing and I don't want you to get on his bad side in this." William did not want anything to jeopardize a potential promotion for the constable.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Inspector Brackenreid and Dr Grace met with William about a scheme for identifying the women who were part of the jewelry gang, hoping to lead them to the murderer of Diana White. They agreed that Dr Grace and Miss Moss would participate in the operation and that the constables would be there to catch the thieves in the act. His autopsy and lab results were going to be delayed because of Dr Grace's involvement in the case. That left William a good portion of the afternoon to work on his own investigations.

William added to notes at his desk. He was still primarily interested in the July 10th Feed Company fire, and the file was getting thicker, but not any more revealing. Something was not adding up and he hoped by looking at the problem statistically he could find the answer. Dr Grace gave him the last pieces of data he needed from her work in the morgue and the morgue records.

He waited for George to bring 'round some material from last night's new fire for William to examine, so until it arrived, he went back to his chalk board. He was charting all the fires in Toronto over the last 24 months—where they occurred, who owned the property and who profited. There were the occasional arsons for money or because a miscreant liked to watch the building burn, but mostly there were accidental domestic blazes or an industrial fire.

At least one young woman burned because her extremely flammable dress and crinolines caught fire and she was unable to quench the flames fast enough, and certainly not able to remove it from herself, considering the yards of fabric and corset and dress laced from the back. Those tragedies were blessedly less frequent than in the past, and he discarded that death as not relevant to his investigation. He discovered however, the Rational Dress reformers had a point when it came to their argument about the hampering nature of women's fashions, and had said so to his wife.

Toronto was a booming town and real estate prices were climbing. _How well I know that_, he thought, since he was researching the cost of a house in various neighborhoods. No one left a parcel unimproved for long. Owners rebuilt immediately, speculators snapped up distressed land, and the remnants of the burned buildings were scavenged clean for the iron nails, bricks and stones, even small brass and metal findings and furnishing of a structure to be reused or resold. The Feed Company site continued to linger in a kind of limbo, and he wanted to know why. This new case may or may not add to the picture, but it was definitely a murder to be solved.

"Murdoch! Get in here," asked Inspector Brackenreid, as he put down the telephone in his office.

William moved that pile of papers to his center drawer, and took up his latest attempt at ferreting out Eva Pearce, and brought it to his superior's office. "Sir?" he asked. The inspector was more irritable with him lately, so he was a little wary about the reception he was going to get.

"That was Fire Chief Thompson. He said you were questioning his men, again." The inspector appeared displeased.

"It was a fire, sir, of course I wanted to know their opinion and observations. Dr Grace will have more later, but so far we do not know the identities of the victims nor confirmation on the manner of death." William pivoted topic and brought in his new idea for finding Eva Pearce. "Sir, I wondered if you can help me identify the best locations for circulating Miss Pearce's photograph. Maybe private clubs, civic organizations?….I am looking for places where, well, wealthy older men might socialize or where I can discretely inquire about gentlemen who are her likely targets. The newspaper articles have produced no viable leads and we have canvassed the likely hotels, boarding houses and contacted the rental agents, with no results. I do not believe she has left the city, or if she has she is not gone very far. I believe she has found shelter with, or the, er…patronage of, a man who is vulnerable to her charms. That would be consistent with how she operates."

Brackenreid stood, putting his hands in his pockets. "Face it Murdoch, it's been more than 10 days without a peep from her. She's long gone. Got clean away from you. Trying to interview the gentlemen toffs of the city will just get doors slammed in your face and upset a lot of people. No gentlemen of rank or means will admit he has been taken advantage of and will not appreciate your insinuations."

"But sir, there is no evidence she crossed the border and none that she used the train or ship or any public convenience to leave the city. I know she is still here." William appealed to the inspector to understand.

What Brackenreid thought was that Murdoch was a little obsessed with the Pearce woman. "She is over the boarder by now. Let it go. You can't win them all." He looked at his detective. "Even you," he said as he tapped Murdoch on the chest. "Leave it alone, Murdoch. Now, we have other crimes to solve—where is my nephew? Charlie?" he shouted out into the bull pen.

"Detective?" Constable Crabtree called William over, "I have your box of evidence, sir." He came in lugging a smallish wooden crate. "Shall I put it on your desk?"

William thanked George and used this as an excuse to leave Brackenreid's office. Inspector Brackenreid and the rest of the men left to see to the jewelry store robbery. The detective agreed he would be available later to interview suspects.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

William decided Dr Grace and Miss Moss acquitted themselves very well in the jewelry theft investigation, when it was all said and done. His opinion of Miss Moss rose further when he learned she had gone to school for engineering. He wondered briefly why she did not continue to pursue it if it was her passion.

William was finishing up to leave for the day when Dr Grace asked him to come to the morgue. The coroner's apron was smudged with black soot and other material, and her hair was coming out of its pins. This time her skirt and white blouse escaped without being soiled. The pong of burned flesh in the closed room was high. Dr Grace appeared not to notice, so William pretended not to either.

"Detective, I think I have something." She reached over to the first gurney and pulled back part of the sheet and stood on the other side of the corpse to give her dissertation, as if she was a student and he was her don at University. "I judge this man to be at least 60 to 70 years of age. His dental work indicates eastern European origins. As you can see, the man's body has a distinctive curve to his neck and back, that does not appear to be congenital. This is commonly found in individuals who have labored by bending forward doing close work, occupational markers if you will, of someone who worked doing fine hand work for many years. You may see this in tailors, jewelers, goldsmiths and the like, particularly in occupations with long apprenticeships." She waited for him to make his own observations before proceeding. She uncovered his hands. "His hands have a fine structure for that kind of work—long fingers, strong, with what appears to be small burn and puncture scars, consistent with a jeweler, for instance. His hands were this well preserved because they were under his body when the fire started."

William leaned in to see them with the magnifying glass she offered him. "Is this what you wanted to show me?" he asked, pointing to the discoloration on the fingers and palms of both hands.

"Yes. That is ink, more than one kind, I'd wager, and not very soluble. I will know more when I have run more analyses. "The other man is younger, perhaps 40 years of age and so similar in build I would guess them to be related or at least ethnically similar, with less of the back curvature but a similar amount of stain on his hands. The fire did not destroy as much physical evidence on the bodies as I originally thought. The men were adequately fed and there was no evidence of disease. There were not intoxicated. The remains of their clothing was similar, woolen trousers, shirt and jackets, but nothing you would see on the better class of people, more likely on someone who just arrived from the continent in steerage. There was no identification on the bodies and no items that are traceable. Their faces were crushed by some of the falling debris, but not obliterated, so I may be able to reconstruct their likenesses, given enough time," she offered.

"And the cause of death, doctor?" he asked.

"They were both quite dead when the building was set on fire, as there was no trace of soot or burn in the lungs. I do not believe they were squatters or vagrants because their general health was good, so perhaps the scene was staged to look that way. As I surmised, the cause of death was a single blow to the head with a blunt object, likely a length of pipe or other similar object. Unfortunately I can find no trace in the wound. Between the fire, Kerosene as we expected, and the water to put it out…" she shrugged. "But I did find these." She showed him the small glass vial of trace evidence, and handed it over to him. "I used a magnet to retrieve this. It was particularly on their jackets and trousers."

He took the material and peered at it. "Iron, or steel?" he questioned, as he put it his pocket.

"Someone thought they could burn away relevant evidence or bury the crime as squatters setting the fire. But they were mistaken, thanks to you, doctor." William complimented her with a grim smile. The information about the bodies is all I need. Thank you again, Dr Grace. If you can confirm the staining on the hands?" he asked and she nodded. "There is no need for undue haste, and I assume you want to go home yourself after a long day."

"I have something I need to do before going home," she said. He said goodnight and took his leave of her. Looking at the time, he was pleased to see he could get home a little early himself tonight.

##############

William asked Julia for a pre-dinner walk, and meandered over to the Diana White crime scene with her in tow. William shared the details of the jewelry case with his wife and his approval of Miss Moss and Dr Grace's undertaking. He enjoyed sorting out conundrums with Julia, and in the process this evening, found a new piece of evidence. The two of them walked to the station house to deposit the evidence and then took a carriage to their hotel.

Before this week Julia had not yet discussed with William how he planned to vote in the upcoming election. The conversation in the carriage went about the way she expected.

"Julia, I cannot vote for someone unless I know their views and their platform. And besides, the whole point of the secret ballot, is well, secrecy." He told her. "I plan to vote my conscience."

"Fine," she said. "I assume that means you will be going with me then to her speeches to satisfy your curiosity and be able to make an informed decision?" She smiled innocently at the face he made. Having boxed him in, he could only agree.

_You are not the only one who plays chess, William_…. She told him there would be a meeting at their suite Sunday afternoon that should be over by supper time.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Thursday October 16

Brackenreid was in a difficult mood by the time William arrived for his 8 am work-day. He had no idea what the problem was, but there was definitely a shift in the air.

By mid-morning on Thursday, the detective stood at his worktable, sorting through the box of evidence George and he gathered from the scene of the 2 men's deaths yesterday. There wasn't much. He was most interested in small metal scrap pieces that he sent the constable back again to find by using a large magnet to separate the items from the fire's debris. He took out each one and examined it closely with his magnifying glasses and eventually some of them with a jeweler's loop to get the most detail possible. He used his alternative light source just in case. He compared these materials to the ones he obtained from the July fire. When he was finished he placed the items back in the evidence box and set them aside to work out his next move.

He already had Dr Grace's preliminary results on the inks and set up a meeting with a source who could shed additional light and hopefully interpret the findings. He called Constable Crabtree into his office.

"Sir, what can I do for you?" Crabtree asked.

"George, I would like you to send a telegram for me, discretely." He looked over across the bull pen at the inspector through the glass partitions. The detective dug in his pockets for some money and handed it to the other man along with a note. "Here is the address and here is what I am looking for. Can you ask for the response to be delivered to me at the Windsor House Hotel?"

"Of course sir. Glad to help," Crabtree said and left out of one of the office doors and the inspector came in through the other.

"Murdoch, how are you doing with this case? Any suspects?" Brackenreid gestured to the evidence box.

"No, sir, not at this time. No one has reported any men missing, no one saw the fire start and we do not know the identity of the men, so motive is hard to determine. I do not believe they were vagrants, however…they appear to have been deliberately killed and the fire was set to dispose of the evidence and the bodies. Simple Kerosene was the accelerant. Dr Grace and I believe they are recent immigrants and may have been skilled craftsmen, but we have noting definitive." William looked away as he knew he was withholding information, but did not want to approach the inspector until he had more proof.

"Any motive for the fire other than to dispose of the bodies?"

"I am checking into that, but so far, no. I have an appointment later his afternoon to consult on the trace evidence

Dr Grace obtained… " William was deliberately vague, but his superior did not seem to notice.

William attempted to talk one more time with the inspector about Eva Pierce, but did not even get the man's attention.

Instead, Brackenreid shifted back to the Diana White murder, and asked Constable Crabtree to bring in the evidence in that case. Brackenreid explained what might have been muddying the waters about the investigation and eventually Dr Grace confirmed gunshot residue on a piece of evidence that led to the killer.

William reminded the inspector of his appointments and left the station house, expecting to be back by 5:00 pm or so.

He checked out with the desk sergeant, took his bicycle and sped off to his first stop with his tailor.

######################

"Alors, Monsieur Henri, comment allez-vous?" asked William loudly as he came through the door of the cluttered, cedar-smelling fitting room in back of the tailor's shop. The noise from the construction next door was deafening, and he gestured to the proprietor about the din. Toronto's building boom halted for no one and nothing.

M. Henri appeared to take no notice of the noise, ushering his client deeper into the room, "Personne ne peut rien faire, alors pourquoi se plandre?" He shrugged and unstrung his measuring tape as William shed his clothing. William agreed that complaining would do no good. They chatted pleasantly in French about inconsequentials, as a way to deflect from the intimate nature of the measurements.

_There is only so much a man can hide from his tailor, _William grimaced. M. Henri's neat, quick hands completed measurements and the tailor looked over the top of his glasses up at the detective, appeared to hesitate and then gave the bad news. "Désolé, monsieur, vos mesures ont change."

"Je suppose que ce est la vérité." William was aware he had been putting on some weight. His excuse to himself was a long recuperation after being shot this year (still recuperating in fact), eating richer food than he was used to at the hotel, and spending time with Julia rather than out riding his bicycle—all of which advanced his waistline. He sighed and gestured to M. Henri. "Mais dans vos mains des miracles…?"

"Oui, bien sûr," M. Henri, smiled at his client. He noted with pleasure how immaculately the detective kept his wardrobe, as if he appreciated the artistry that went into making the suits. M. Henri made the detective's jackets with pockets to his specifications and made sure the lines were impeccable, but he was looking forward to sewing these new evening clothes in the latest style without any work-related extras. As for the weight change, _mariage rend gros et heureux_, he thought, but was too discrete to do more than nod.

"Avez-vous entendu parler de votre fils?" asked William. He knew the tailor sent money home for the boy's care.

"Il est bien, merci," M. Henri responded. "Ses poumons sont de mieux en mieux." William was glad, Consumption was a difficult illness and he sympathized with the man.

They agreed on fabrics and the price. With some trepidation, William paid his bill in full, counting out (and he hoped without betraying any wincing to M. Henri) the nearly two and a half week's wages for the entire outfit of coat, trousers, waistcoat and 2 shirts, suspenders and 2 ties, and a full set of new undergarments. _Anything for Julia. _ He replaced his misgivings with a besotted grin. _This suit will be worth it._ _I am going to the New Year's Ball this year and_ _dance with my wife_! He knew that M. Henri would be exchanging some of the money for francs and sending cash to family in Lyon for his son, and felt good again about paying the bill upfront.

M. Henri assured him it all would be ready within the month, and sent him on his way with a cheery "Merci." William considered his waist and decided he would have to lose weight soon-it was much less expensive than new suits.

He was spontaneously inspired to get Julia a gift and believed he could easily add that detour to his day. As he crossed town to go to his next appointment, William also decided he would call Julia and ask her a question before she left work. He wondered how her meeting went and what she was up to, at that very moment.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

_Julia was enthralled. He picked her up roughly with his strong arms and covered her mouth with deep, hungry, insistent kisses, pushing his tongue between her teeth for her to pull on with her own mouth. A promise of what was coming next. He swept her backwards until her legs and buttocks connected with the table with him pressed firmly against her, separating her knees, his urgency quite obvious. He lifted her easily onto the table surface, scattering papers into a swirl. His hands worked her dress and liberated her bosom, allowing him to drop kisses on her breasts as he pulled her skirt and petticoats up to allow him access to her. One of her buttons skittered on the floor of the semi-public place. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and neck and lifted herself up while he pawed at the strings of her drawers….. _

The telephone rang a third time, jolting Julia out of her daydream. She launched herself out of her chair at the handset and attempted to say, "Hello, Dr Ogden," without betraying her emotional or physical state. Fortunately she mostly had to listen to the conversation, which she ended by agreeing to take on an extra shift in admissions just to get the administrator off the phone sooner rather than later.

She hung the ear piece on the handset and leaned back again, squirming a little in the chair. _Oh my, __that__ one…. Again! _Julia smiled at herself. If there was ever any doubt that thoughts control feelings and physical responses, she had all the proof she ever needed considering the effects her fantasies about William had on her person. Useful knowledge in her line of work, _but I knew that before I ever considered being a psychiatrist. _ She had just wanted to relax in her office after a very frustrating meeting with some of the hospital board members, _and my more supposedly-enlightened colleagues_, about changing the conditions in some of the wards. Her walk back to her office was punctuated with muttering under her breath about the _obstinacy, stubbornness, inflexibility, intransigence, intractability, __obduracy, mulishness, pig-headedness, perversity, recalcitrance, implacability and uncooperativeness of MEN! _

Being a well-educated and well-read woman she could go on…..The harsh rap of her heels beat out her anger on the wooden floors as she made her way through the building. Once, when she went on like this in William's presence, he pointed out to her, reasonably enough, it was not all men, nor only men. "But it is_ always_ men!" she had retorted, and he had no comeback to that, _or the wisdom not to share it. _

By the time she got back to her office she was beside herself, and needed composure for her next patient due to arrive in 15 minutes. She had rocked back in her chair, gazed at her fish and before she realized it, closed her eyes and drifted off...to think of William. _My unguarded mind likes to take my body with it. _Julia reflected that this was a great example of the mixed messages she gave her husband. _What would happen if I shared this one with William? How could I tell him I have fantasized that I want him to just… __take__ me, when I resist any small measure of anything that seems like he is controlling me?...Julia, _she thought with exasperation at herself_, you are overthinking things as usual. _She was drifting off again…._ Maybe I want to keep this fantasy just for me; after all, I have kept it all these many years…_she smiled once more_… then again….. _

The telephone shrilled, dragging her abruptly back to her office. She answered and to her surprise, it was William's voice over the line. _His voice can produce similar results, _she noted delightedly."Yes, William?"

This time his voice was rather hushed on the other end of the line. "Julia, I have another angle to pursue regarding Miss Pearce," he began. "I wondered if her belongings were stored somewhere after her escape—if so I want to examine them. Also, do you think you could review her asylum records? I am looking for anyone who visited her or sent her mail. She made statements that she had 'friends' who helped her. I want to know who these friends were—and Julia, I also wonder if someone from within the hospital might have helped her." William's concern was evident in his tone.

"You are worried someone here might be a threat to me?" she asked.

He answered. "We must consider the possibility, don't you think? Is there a way to do this discretely so that no one knows? Either bring the information home for us to look at together, or look yourself while you are at work?"

Julia quickly calculated and agreed, "I just consented to take another shift, so I have an opportunity. I will see what can be done here, find out where her belongings went and let you know. I will see you at home later—don't wait dinner." Julia rang off, smoothed her hair, and picked up her file as the nurse brought her next patient in.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Friday October 17

Friday was a blessedly boring day. There were no new murders to solve, no general mayhem to sort out and William and Inspector Brackenreid had no words of friction, as the inspector kept to himself most of the day. William believed that was because of the outcome regarding his nephew. Oddly, William also thought, Dr Grace and Brackenreid were uncomfortable with each other, and he hoped it was not because the inspector found out the doctor or Miss Moss was helping him with the July fire investigation. Other than that, things were seemingly back to the new normal.

William was able to finish a great deal of paperwork that had been ignored over the course of the last few days. After that was accomplished, he opened the bag of items belonging to Miss Pearce that Julia retrieved from the Asylum. Miss Pearce seemed to have acquired contraband of all sorts—food, a length of wire, several sharp-looking hair pins that would normally have been confiscated, part of a map, and two small keys that did not fit any known lock at the hospital. William already knew that clothing was smuggled in for her and Mr Drainy denied that he obtained any other thing for her other than a copy of his key. He acted as surprised as anyone that she had these things and William tended to believe him.

Last night when Julia got back to the Hotel, they sat up pouring over the records Julia was able to retrieve from the hospital. They were not very revealing. Miss Pearce had no visitors that were logged in as specifically coming to see her. What was suspicious was that another inmate did have supposed visitors, which Julia found strange, because as far as she knew the woman was isolated, without family and friendless. When Julia quietly questioned her, said she never saw anyone in the 2 years she had been in residence. Miss Pearce and this woman may have crossed paths during episodes of treatment, perhaps, but it seemed possible that someone was signing in to see Mary Wedge but really seeing Miss Pearce instead. William examined the signatures and discovered there were are least three separate individuals (men) who used the name "Frank Baylor" to visit. The desk worker had no idea what the visitor(s) actually looked like. Well past 60? Well dressed? And because of that (presumed affluence and privilege) he took no notice if them at all, assuming a gentleman who desired discretion in visiting a relative in a difficult place.

William brought the clothing and other items to work to examine with his magnifying equipment and anything else he could think of, to find trace evidence that might lead to whomever helped her escape. He had already searched newspaper classified and personal ads to see if she communicated via that method but came up empty. The map pieces were unidentifiable without a reference, and he had not had time to go to the library to dig. He pocketed the keys to show a locksmith on the way home. _Nothing was helpful at the moment!_ His mind wandered to consider Miss Pearce's comment about having a "good attorney." He found Constable Crabtree and asked him to go to the courthouse records and find out the name and particulars of her barrister.

Since that was going nowhere, he turned his attention back to the July fire. He had not heard back on the telegram to his contact in the States. He could not quite put the puzzle pieces together sufficiently to bring to the inspector, especially when his superior told his specifically to drop the investigation.

To get his mind off his frustration, he picked up where he left off working on his new invention, while waiting for a call from Dr Grace. He decided he needed to pull it apart again and rethink how the parts were aligned, and soon was oblivious to the goings-on around him as he ran though the principles in his head. He had been tinkering with this new idea ever since he was laid up with his shoulder, but it was not quite there yet. He was having trouble getting the device to run without sparking out, and his worktable was strewn with wires while his office smelled of solder. He glanced at an unfortunate scorch mark on his glass-fronted cabinet. He was also vexed on how to make it smaller and more portable. He thought he had something amiss and went over each connection again, reciting to himself the principles he was using. _The reciprocal of the equivalent capacitance of two capacitors connected in series is the sum of the reciprocals of the individual capacitances. _

His telephone rang and he answered, interrupting his work. William put the thought away and the telephone back on his desk. _At least I can leave the work in place here, since there is no space in our suite,_ he thought. He was just as happy to leave it alone to go greet Miss Moss, who had arrived over at the morgue. He checked over to see if the Inspector was observing him, but his superior was deep in conversation and oblivious to his detective. William slipped out.

#########

Dr Grace put her receiver down. The ladies were chatting by the coroner's desk, Lillian Moss looking very unsure. She did not quite like the detective, whom she thought of as a bit of a stiff prig, and she found herself often in conflict with his wife. Their attraction to each other eluded her. "Emily, I don't understand why I am here."

"The Detective thinks you can help with an investigation," answered the doctor. Emily was unable to convince Lillian that the detective had his merits. She tried to explain again. "Detective Murdoch has always respected my opinion and trusts my judgment. He has never been skeptical of my work simply because I am a woman. I used to consider that was because of his professional or personal relationship with Dr Ogden, but I have come to believe that is not the case." She looked again at her companion. "Between you and me, I also think that he could probably conduct a decent autopsy himself were he so inclined, but he is willing to defer to another's strengths or expertise. For a self-educated man I find his range and depth of understanding and interests remarkable, although his fascination with electricity scares me a little. I think for him, knowledge has no gender, and I find that liberating, do you not?" She heard the morgue doors open and footsteps on the hard flooring. "Here he is now. Detective, how can we help you?

"Dr Grace, Miss Moss," he said as he approached them. "Thank you for meeting me. " He turned to face the tall, thin woman in a severely-tailored wool suit, crisp white shirt and striped silk tie. "If I may, Miss Moss, I have need of some of your education and training." He came right to the point. "How many years of engineering school did you complete….?" She replied and William proceeded to tell them what he needed. He handed over an object for her to look at. In a very short time the three of them were deep in their own conversation.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Sunday October 19

Sunday morning, William left a just-awakening Julia to attend his morning church service, carrying his package under his arm. He enjoyed the long walk to Mass and made sure he was early so he could have quiet time for reflection. Mass was about the only place he went where he never wore his constabulary badge. Clearing his busy mind was usually a struggle, but sitting in the church pew, appreciating the light cascading through the stained glass, most often allowed him some peace. His hand strayed to his pocket to touch his St Michael's medal, patron saint of police. He definitely needed some extra help from somewhere with his police work, and then he chastised himself for the irrational thought. He tried to balance science and faith and did not always succeed. Other parishioners filed in and he nodded acknowledgements to familiar faces. Slowly, he shut off thoughts of work and secular worries and prepared himself to concentrate on the service. He was focused and present until the collection basket went by and he handed over his tithe. He never noticed before the wide variety of money that was collected. _I wonder how they sort all that out_, he thought, and then forgot all about his question as the wire basket passed on and the Mass moved forward to conclusion.

Sunday was his and Julia's customary day of leisure together, but today she had a suffrage meeting in their suite so he made plans to play chess for a few hours before returning home. He stopped and bought a cup of soup, biscuit and tea from a small café to break his fast.

Thinking about his weekly chess match, he contemplated on how much it had become embedded in his routine. The first time he went he had no idea what to expect. As William made his way, he recalled the first conversation:

_*****Why are you __really__ here, Detective?" asked the other man. His blue eyes and military bearing were both somewhat diminished in these surroundings, but the man had his dignity fully intact. _

_William understood it as a fair question, but had no ready answer. He had felt compelled to come so gave into the impulse, not sure what his reception would be. _

_He had reflected on his decision to come, not sure what to say. _

_[[He had time on his hands while he was being treated for his bullet wound and the nasty infection that set in, and was thinking a lot on many topics. He had discussed it with Julia, of course, and recalled their conversation. "I feel for the man, Julia. And I guess I admire him. It is also true that without him, I think you and I both would have died. It was only because he was willing to accept there __could__ be proof that you were innocent of Darcy's death, and his rational decision to assume that if I was missing I was most likely already dead…." He paused and looked at her, warm in his arms._

_Julia finished for him. "That allowed the men to find you and get to me before…" she usually choked thinking about the noose around her neck and unconsciously put her hand up her throat. Gillies meant for us both to die, she shuddered. "You feel grateful to him for allowing the men to work on our behalf and therefore feel loyal to him?" _

_William had answered. "I also find him to be a compelling individual. He asked for truth from me and I gave it." William recalled their conversation in the wood-paneled interview room. "He said that loyalty is the only moral force that can exist on the same plane as truth and that one cannot overcome the other without cost. I find he is right. He also asked me, later, what I would have done to free you." He looked at her. "I was already trying to get you to run away when they arrested you. I was going to abandon everything and save you. He asked me what I was going to do if Gillies had not intervened and there was no other way to stay the execution." William's eyes were tearing at his memories. "Julia, I would have broken you out, at any cost, to save you. I would have done it gladly, and if I got caught, I would at least know you were free and alive. I would have died for you…..but if we had lived, I think it would have destroyed us." _

_She hugged him fiercely. "William, you did save me, against the odds. Gillies hoped for both our lives, set it up so you would fail—but you beat him. Do you hear me? We won and he lost." She looked into his troubled brown eyes. _

"_So, what are you going to do?" she asked finally._

"_I think I want to visit him. He is at the Don Jail. It looks like the powers that be did not want his homosexuality known—too embarrassing to admit their respected and decorated Chief Constable had been a sodomite, so the Crown Prosecutor accepted the plea and he was sentenced only on obstruction. They want him to fade into quiet obscurity, so he is quite forgotten there already. He has no one…"_

"_William, loyalty is a virtue that I also admire," she said smiling. "How about chess? I heard he was an excellent good player..."]] _

_William turned to Percival Giles and said simply, "I thought you would like a game of chess, sir. I understand you play."*****_

So it began. There was very little conversation between them at first other than generalities. William could hardly discuss the wider world with a man who was locked up, as that would have been insensitive in the extreme unless initiated by Giles. Over the weeks the conversations became broader and more intellectually stimulating. William now quite looked forward to the trip to the small room for an hour or so each week for a very spirited and competitive chess match.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Sunday Afternoon

The afternoon fall weather was clear with a particularly blue Toronto sky, since a crisp northern breeze dissipated the industrial smoke, blowing it south over the lake towards Rochester. Julia thought the Ontario Provincial election campaign was going rather well. She gave a satisfied plump to one of the pillows and counted out the glasses and small sandwiches she ordered for the meeting at the Windsor House suite. _Miss Haile_ as the first female MPP candidate _is splendid as a speaker and campaigner and the whole business is exciting, _she frowned,_ but time-consuming and expensive._ The reason for today's meeting was to get money for the campaign from more affluent women, who were now filing in.

Miss Haile presented an outline of her next speech to the well-dressed attendees as they sipped and nibbled. She stood at a small lectern and called on women to develop "…other sides of her nature than the mother and wife side; one who is attempting to become an all-around human being, instead of the one-sided individual she has hitherto compelled to remain. She feels her individuality more than her sex…Her intellect trained; her tastes educated; and all her mental and physical powers developed. She does not believe that life is over for her when she stands at the altar…The new woman believes in being herself right down to the end of life, living out her own personal life."

The ladies chatted about suffrage strategy and wide-ranging ideas for several hours. The event went over well, and resulted in a few significant donations. Today's money was put with the small donations from other events, usually from working class and poorer neighborhoods. The money would be accounted for, then turned around and plowed right back into the election. Julia toyed with the variety of colorful notes, before putting them in an envelope and passing them on to Miss Haile. The suffragists exited Julia's suite full of good intentions and excellent sherry at the conclusion of the meeting. Emily Grace walked Miss Moss to the Lobby, then returned to Julia's suite, hoping for a word with her mentor and friend, and to check on Julia's broken wrist.

When Emily returned, Julia said, "I must say Miss Haile presents her points very well. You know, she is role model of sorts for me. I think that is what we are doing by having these meetings, discussing issues in our own way, and see how they affect us and what we are going to do about it. Her vision of the New Woman is inspiring."

"Quite so, Julia," agreed Emily. "The problem is men will have to vote the idea into being."

"And we know how that has been going!" Julia grumbled. "The only elected office a woman can hope to win in Ontario is school trustee and even then only spinsters and widows qualify. Marriage disqualifies a woman because she is subsumed under her husband. It is outrageous." _Another good reason for me to not have run!_ Julia also thought.

Emily agreed and said so. She gestured to her companion's cast. "Julia. It has been almost 6 weeks. How does it feel?" Emily asked as she poked at the cast and palpated what was exposed of Julia's right arm and hand, her pearl drop earrings swaying and she moved her head to peer at the arm more closely.

"Itchy. I don't think I did it any favors getting assaulted at the asylum, but I think I can get the cast off this week. At least I want to try. It is so frustratingly awkward!" and right on cue, Julia slopped a little sherry while pouring another glass for each of them. She handed the cut crystal to Emily.

"How are you progressing with the reforms you want at the hospital?" Emily was interested particularly in the welfare of the women in the Asylum since it was well-known to the women's political movement that women were disproportionally locked away for supposed female problems—_As if having a uterus made one predisposed to insanity, _they had fumed to each other one meeting. A husband could dispose of an unwanted wife by having her committed, which was an ongoing outrage to the women.

"It is slow, but I am not giving up. It occurs to me we might be able to use the topic as a lever for change…later I suppose," she said, catching Emily's look. "I know we must take things one at a time."

"Do you feel safe enough now? Are you sure no one else will be able to escape?" Emily continued to fear Rose Maxwell, one of the inmates who threatened her and Julia.

"Yes, I believe so." Julia looked troubled, however.

"Julia, you say that, but your expression belies your words," Emily told her.

Julia was not sure Emily was the right sounding board but decided to speak her mind anyway. "Emily, I am still rather shaken up after the experience myself. I have not had nightmares again, but I am not as comfortable as I had been." She stopped, rearranged her skirts and set her own glass down after taking a sip. "If William had not been separately investigating the asylum records and discovered about Mr Drainy, he never would have come back to the asylum that night. I sent him home. I even admonished him for wanting to know when to expect me. Instead of going home and to bed, he sat in his office going through files… So many 'ifs'. It was a very lucky thing that he came back to see me when he could not reach me on the telephone. I think it would have been very bad for me if he hadn't…."

"Have you spoken of this with him?" asked Emily.

"No. I think he does not want to say 'I told you so' and I don't really know what I want to say to him."

Emily looked hesitant and then said, "Julia. You are strong and independent. You can admit an error of judgement and can also admit that no one can predict everything. I think the detective can understand that, don't you?"

"I hope so, Emily, I hope so." Julia stated. "I am wondering what I can do to prepare myself…well, enough of that."

"If you want to come to my office this week I will help you remove the cast. Perhaps Tuesday before the next rally? In the meantime, give me that stack of letters and I will help you fold them until the detective comes home." Emily pointed to a box of papers, and the two women pushed the table clear. "Oh, dear, some of the money escaped the envelope." Emily reached for the bills on the floor. "Here, you can give these to Miss Haile next time you see her," and she placed them on the desk, out of the way. She was interested to see that piled on the desk was a collection of Sir Richard Steele's writings, including _The Christian Hero_ and _The Conscious Lovers, _whichsat next to _Woman, Church and State _by Matilda Joselyn Gage and a stack of _Scientific Americans. _She wondered,_ How do they do it?_ thinking about Julia and the detective's relationship.

Emily looked meaningfully at Julia for a moment and then broke away. She strongly considered confiding in Julia the difficulty she encountered with Inspector Brackenreid this week and the alteration in circumstances regarding her love life, but determined that she preferred to hold her own counsel for now. It was better to keep things light and let the topic of conversation rest on safer ground. The two gossiped for an hour on less difficult subjects and more of the sherry, with Julia sharing that she recently discovered her husband had a fine voice for singing. "Who knew? A light tenor..."


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Sunday Night

"I am not convinced. I am just not convinced. We need a plan to take care of her that deals with her psychologically," Julia stated, while spearing her meat with her fork. "Miss Pearce will try to come at you in a way that undermines you, William. You are just too straight-forward for her. You cannot win under those circumstances."

"I still think we need both psychology and concrete tactics—and without knowing more about where she is and what she is doing, how are we to protect ourselves?" William was not winning this argument, as he well knew. He should defer to Julia as this is her area of expertise, but it galled him to think he was powerless in protecting them. His meal was already demolished and he was picking at his sweet, trying to think of his waistline.

"I have read every scrap of her testimony and her treatment records and I have a firm psychological portrait of her now that only reinforces what I said the first time. She is a manipulative narcissist. We need another way, I just don't know what it is yet…" she trailed off. "What do you think about her attorney, was he another of her victims or paramours?"

"Well, he fits your indicators—male, older, rich, married but disaffected from his wife, and he appeared to defend her pro bono. We found his name in her visitor log after she first got to the hospital and then no more visits…and he is too well known and recognizable to have gone and signed in under another name." He pushed his dish away. "Are you finished with your supper?" he asked.

Julia indicated she was done with her meal and he called for the staff to pick up the tray.

"I cannot spend one more minute thinking about her tonight, William. Let's move on to another topic."

"All right. How was your meeting today?" he asked as he went to the desk to grab his journal. "Do you want me to go to the rally Tuesday night with you, if I am not caught at work?" Sitting on top of the papers was a telegram envelope. "Did this come for me?" he asked, picking it up to show her.

"Oh, goodness, yes. It came up with the meal tray. I'm sorry I forgot about it. Is it important?" she asked.

"Perhaps. I was looking for information from my contact in New York about something…" He paused as he opened it and read it. His face worked, grimaced, and then cleared. He glanced at the pile of money on the desk. "Julia, where did you say this money came from?" He picked up several bills and examined them minutely, found a magnifying glass and went over them again. He listened carefully as she answered and he posed some follow up questions that she also answered. He started to smile.

"William, what are you thinking?" she saw the excitement in him, and forgot all about her meeting.

"I am thinking I just found a missing piece to the puzzle. I have more to work out, but what do you think? Here, let me show you, you have a good eye…." 


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Tuesday October 21

Emily had helped Julia remove the cast earlier in the day, and Julia thought the arm looked better and certainly felt better, now that she scrubbed it and put some salve on. She was happy to be able to use both hands again and luxuriated in the fact by combing out her hair and putting it up in a soft chignon. William was able to attend Miss Haile's rally with his wife as planned. They had a short meal and he walked with her to the rally, at which the detective was as fascinated by the speaker as he was by the fund-raising. In the end he pronounced Miss Haile to be well-spoken, passionate and logical, but he was not convinced she would win. They discussed it more on the way home.

"Winning is not everything, William. This campaign is as much about breaking up old ideas as it is getting her elected," Julia said, taking his arm tightly.

"She will have to convince enough men to vote for her to make any of it meaningful," he remarked, as he opened the doors to the hotel to allow her to pass before him. They continued to walk and talk up the stairs to the third floor.

"Yes, that is the point, is it not?" Julia looked him face to face. "She is the only candidate that supports a woman's right to vote, to full personhood and participation in society. She is the only one who argues for what we are striving for in our own marriage. Is that not a compelling enough reason to have your vote?" Julia waited for her husband to answer.

"In fact, Julia….it is." He smiled and opened the door to their suite.

Once inside, they sat for a few minutes catching up on reading before bed. Julia was restless, however and William noticed. "Julia, is something the matter?" he wondered.

"Well, my cast is off, and I am feeling so very much more recovered…" She touched his arm with a sensual gesture.

"Oh," he said, then "Oh…." He leaned over and got his face very close to her hers and smiled, looking up at her from under his lashes, aware of the effect it had on her when he did so.

"Why, Mr Murdoch, I do believe you are leering at me," she smiled back.

"I do believe I am, Mrs Murdoch. I too am feeling well-recovered. Perhaps we can celebrate?"

Without any more words, they walked hand on hand to their bedroom. Holding each other's gaze, they removed their clothing. William pulled the pins from her hair, brushing it out with his fingers. Julia stepped into the circle of his arms and walked him to the bed, where he lay on his back with his hands behind his head. She climbed in and joined him there, glided herself over him easily, demonstrating her ardor matched his. As she settled firmly on him, a deep moan escaped her lips that he reciprocated. William reached for her to press against him and they both reveled in the connection for a minute as more desire built. He turned them over so that Julia was beneath him, and he kissed her, hard. Eventually one of them started to move, each groan or gasp fuelling the rush, when the drive for completion took them over. They spoke each other's names and expressions of love while talking was still possible, followed only by sounds of pleasure and release. Afterwards, William rested beside Julia, allowing his heart rate to settle down, his mind blissfully empty and his other senses exquisitely alive. It was only with Julia that he ever really freed himself this way. "I missed this…it has been a while," he said, winding his fingers in her hair. He saw he had left marks on her neck and shoulders. _It is a good thing it is colder weather and her dresses have high collars. _

"For your most vigorous attentions, yes…." She sighed contentedly, her long, lean form draped over her lover.

The phone rang again, but he did not get to it before it stopped. "Five minutes ago I would not have answered that," said Julia, looking at her husband beside her.

"Five minutes ago I would not have been capable of answering it," murmured William. "I am not sure I can now. Well, at least this time they waiting until we were through to interrupt us," he smiled. "I wonder if I can make a device that will answer the telephone for us and take a message…?"

"What makes you think we are through?" she teased him.

"Julia, I don't think I could…er…again. Um, but I do have an idea if…" William's suggestion was interrupted by an insistent knock at the door. "I hope that is not another noise complaint!" Then he heard the voice calling "Doctor Ogden? Doctor Ogden?"

William got out of bed, found his robe and open the door a sliver. "Yes?"

"Pardon me, Detective, I have a message for Doctor Ogden. The asylum could not reach her so someone called the front desk to bring a message to her. They are sending a carriage around to pick her up—there is an emergency with a patient. Her carriage will be here soon. What shall I tell the driver?"

Julia answered from the next room, "I will be down in 15 minutes. William, can you help me? And remind me, I have something I want to ask you tonight."


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Wednesday October 22, early morning

The night desk sergeant had called the Brackenreid home when Murdoch got to the station house. Inspector Brackenreid answered the phone, checked the time, put his street clothes on again and went back to work. When he got there, he could see the detective was at his desk, pondering some papers. The green glass shade of the detective's desk lamp gave the only light. His inevitable chalk board was covered with writing. _Murdoch probably thinks I have been oblivious or that he has been clever._ This was going to be another hard encounter—the third one to have in a week's time. He hoped that he would not have to disclose _everything_ to Murdoch, because some of what had been brought to his attention would be heart-breaking to the man. _I wonder if this confrontation will be any better than the other two. _Brackenreid quietly dismissed the sergeant. "Go have some tea—have a pint if you like—I'll cover for you." He did not want witnesses to this particular conversation with his detective. He entered the other man's office quietly.

"Murdoch," Brackenreid said, "we have to talk."

William looked up, startled—he had not heard the inspector come in, and was quite taken aback. After helping Julia get dressed and into a carriage, he decided to stay up, so therefore got himself washed and dressed and came into work. His displeasure at seeing his superior washed across his face and was quickly replaced with a more neutral demeanor.

"Sir. Has there been an emergency? Shall I get my things to go to a crime scene?" William was a little confused, as the inspector was not in his usual suit, but wearing more casual clothing.

Brackenreid noticed Murdoch was already trying to highjack the conversation, and he was having none of it.

"No. This is about you and what is going on with you." The inspector pointed at the files and the chalk board where William was working out the Feed Company fire problem.

William reacted by involuntarily clenching his fists, but he kept his face still to betray nothing. "To what are you referring?"

"Murdoch, what are you doing here instead of being home in bed like decent folk are?" He did not let the detective interrupt. "I expressly told you not to do any more work on this case. But here you are at 3:30 in the morning no less, defying a direct order."

The detective bolted upright. "Sir! When has that ever been a problem that I work too much or long hours?" he said as he eyed Brackenreid. "This is my own time. I am not on the clock. It is just for my own satisfaction."

Brackenreid countered swiftly. "Don't you give me any of your Jesuit arguments." Murdoch was attempting to come around his desk and approach Brackenreid. "Sit. Down!" he ordered. The other man subsided warily into his desk chair, as Brackenreid paced.

William tried again. "Sir. I don't think…."

"_Sod it!_ That's the very problem, me ole' mucker, you are not thinking. Not thinking _at all_!" Brackenreid was shouting now, his Yorkshire roots flaring more in his speech as he got going. He could see Murdoch getting angry, eyes flashing, but trying to stay in control.

"Sir, I…" William started, but was overridden abruptly.

"Shut it, Murdoch. I am going to have my say and you are bloody-well going to listen." Brackenreid approached Murdoch's desk and leaned on the front with his weight on his hands. He wanted Murdoch to have to look up and look closely. _I know a thing or two about handling an interview. _

William could feel himself getting enraged and struggled with his composure. He finally settled for his most closed-in and contained presentation to wait out his Brackenreid's tirade.

Brackenreid dropped his voice. "It is bad enough you are mucking around in this fire investigation, defying me, rather publically I might add. You make me look a fool. It's the constant compliant I have had from the new Chief Constable and I have run out of excuses for your behavior." Murdoch tried to interrupt again and Brackenreid cut across him with a sharp gesture. "Because I don't understand your behavior at all. You are more erratic than ever. Are you really so naive that you believe your good intentions are all that matter? Or that the end justifies the means? Or even that truth always prevails?" Brackenreid's blue eyes bored into Murdoch, who was sitting ramrod straight at his desk, hoping he was getting through to the man. He paused. "You reject my advice and my orders." The inspector added in a litany of complaints, dropping them one by one an assessing Murdoch's reactions. "And now I hear you are a regular visitor to the bloody _Don Jail_. My detective from Station House No 4, visiting the former _Chief Constable Giles_, of all people." Brackenreid waved a letter in the air. "Your marriage is falling apart and you regularly visit a homosexual—do you see where this is headed? You are a worse fool than me—I am trying to_ protect_ you." Brackenreid slammed his hands on the desk for emphasis.

William was nonplussed. He opened his mouth and closed it once. He considered what he could possibly say. Instead he tried, "Sir. My marriage is none of your concern…."

Brackenreid roared back. "It is when it affects your work. And something is affecting your work!"

William tried again. He said stiffly, "Sir, my marriage is a happy one, if unconventional by old standards." He looked directly at the inspector as he said this, but tried to keep the challenge out of his reply. Then he relaxed a bit. "Julia is my equal and we are, er…negotiating our relationship and our separate professional lives and duties. We are a modern couple, full partners." He sought for words, recalled with irritation the jibes the inspector had been throwing more and more lately. "We are trying to have a private life that, is well, _private_. Attacking my judgement, or, in effect my manhood, is unwarranted and offensive. And attacking my _wife_ even more so…Sir." He added the 'sir' as an afterthought and cleared his throat. His gaze was as open and level as he could make it, while being excruciatingly uncomfortable on this subject with the inspector_. I can hardly tell Brackenreid what Julia and I were doing a few hours ago, to prove our marriage is stable! _He could feel a blush steal over his face.

"Then what?" asked Brackenreid. Murdock did not appear to be dissembling about his marriage. _Maybe their relationship was carried out more behind closed doors...they certainly are a pair. _Brackenreid waited.

Murdoch decided he had to give Brackenreid something. "Sir, Eva Pearce made a direct threat to me and Julia. I did not include it in my report, but it happened. I…we…have been trying to deal with it on our own terms. We have been trying to come up with a plan to deal with her that does not involve the constabulary, or at least not at this point."

"Bloody Hell- like Gillies again."

"Quite. The other thing, about the fire. Don't you find it odd that you are getting that much pressure for to me to stop investigating? And that the pressure is coming from rather interesting places—like telling you about my playing chess with Giles and implying something sordid? Or starting rumors that I am sullying the honored dead? That Julia is an anarchist or that my marriage to her is imploding? How many other cases have we had where, to reference Shakespeare, someone doth protest too much?"

Brackenreid allowed as how that was a thought. He shifted gears. "So, Murdoch, if you think something stinks, then why don't you clue me in? Make it convincing." The inspector crossed his arms over his chest and stood back.

The detective stood up, came around the desk, picked up his chalk, and started to speak…..

"Sir—I have complied all the information on fires from the last 2 years looking for patterns or anomalies. I compared that separately to the past 10 years' of data from old records. As you can see…" William dragged his chalk board over and flipped it, "most fall into just a few categories. I have performed a probability analysis looking for discrepancies, data that falls outside the expected norms. The _kinds _of fires are all within the normal distribution as are the victims and perpetrators."

Brackenreid looked at the chart and formulae underneath, but did not think he needed the math to see what the problems was. "This one here, is different, isn't it?" the inspector pointed. "The time frame is different—and this one too."

"Quite so, sir. But visual inspection alone is not good enough, because it could be a random bit of data. Both of these fires are different than the others but similar to each other. No one has cleaned these sites and no one has rebuilt on the property. If anything these properties are losing money for the owners due to the delays in reconstruction. And I investigated the financial angle—neither building was that well insured that burning it would provide profit, nor so under insured that there would be no funds to rebuild. I see no financial gain for letting them remain fallow."

"If people want to make poor business decisions that is not our concern…." the inspector started, but William cut in.

"Sir, I think that both these fires are hiding something, and I think I know what that is!" William appealed to the inspector, "And I think it is _big_. Which is why you are getting so much pressure for me to desist."

Brackenreid considered. He still had his own observations about the detective's behavior but this explanation did fit at least some of the facts.

"Let's say I believe you that there is something to this. Murdoch. Who is orchestrating all of it? It would have to be a grand conspiracy…" He put his hands in his pockets and leaned against the cluttered work table. He look at the clock. It was after 4 am and in short order the men would be coming in for their shifts. He removed his cap and brushed his hair back with his hand. _I should have shaved._ "I am going to put the kettle on and you are going to tell me everything you know."

Tea in hand, his detective laid it out succinctly. "I believe that we will find counterfeiting equipment underneath the rubble at the Feed Company. Either under one of the collapsed walls or more probably in a basement of some kind."

Brackenreid's forehead wrinkled. "Go on."

William continued, "One. I found pieces of steel sheets in the fire debris of the quality and thickness of currency plates. It is not used for much else in that size and weight. Miss Moss, I must say, was helpful in determining this."

Brackenreid's eye-brows shot up. _He talked about this with that girl?_

William saw the inspector's look but ignored it. "Two. The ash of the fire contained a large amount of paper residue, more than should have been expected and the paper composition is different from the sort of office-type paper one would expect. I checked all the relevant records, none was listed as being warehoused there. The firemen noticed large sheets of the stuff blowing around and smaller piles of it. There was also a great deal of unexplained chemical residue from the fire…"

"Three. I believe the two men that were killed last week and their bodies burned were master engravers who also helped with printing the money. Their hands are stained with ink and there are minute steel shavings embedded in the remains of their clothing. Dr Grace confirmed for me my guess about their occupation."

_And now Doctor Grace,_ Brackenreid harrumphed to himself, but gestured for Murdoch to continue.

"Four. I received a telegram from New York. In May of this year the US Secret Service raided a sophisticated counterfeiting ring in the States and shut it down, but not before a good quantity of paper, ink and equipment was spirited away. We know that there has been an uptick in smuggling of goods and people into and out of Toronto recently. The engravers of the US money were never located. The situation in Toronto is ripe for counterfeiting, because it is easier to do here and getting harder to do in the States. We have large number of immigrants who often bring the currency from their country of origin with them, and will still trade in it within ethnic communities."

"So what are they counterfeiting, Canadian currency or the stuff from the old country?" Brackenreid was getting intrigued.

"Both, I think. They had time to smuggle in the paper, presses and the printers or engravers and get them running, but the July fire abruptly ended their plans. The new immigrants are vulnerable to bad paper currency, especially if they are used to coins and have no idea what Canadian currency looks like. The Ward is also very isolated but self-sustaining—few leave and fewer visit. Much of the money circulates within the Ward, never reaches a bank, because the people are too poor to ever use one. Neither you nor I use a bank, for that matter. Imagine printing twenty-five cent shinplasters, even one dollar or two dollar notes, a day's wages for a laborer, or more. And who will look that bill with suspicion if you can spend it and get something for it?" William stated. "Immigrants come to Toronto with foreign capital and exchange it for Canadian currency. They also collect money from their country of origin and bundle and ship the bills back home to family. I will also point out that US and British gold coins are legal tender in Canada. Paper money is also convertible to gold. I got the idea from talking with Julia …"

The other shoe dropped. _Of course he talked about it with Doctor Ogden._ Brackenreid let that go and had his wallet out checking his money carefully. "I once heard it said that counterfeiting is the world's second oldest profession," he said with a touch of humor. He held a bill up to the light, peering at the design. "So, a clever bloke could trade fake money for the real thing, leave the fake money in the Ward to circulate at very low levels, get it sent to the old country, and bring the true currency to banks, or even convert to gold."

"Exactly. Maybe even occasionally bring counterfeit to the banks in small amounts, especially foreign currency pegged to the gold standard, like US notes." Murdoch sat on the side of his desk, looking at the other man. _Well, he's with me now_, he thought, _and this feels like how we used to work together._

"So do you think the fire at the Feed Company was a cover up?" asked Brackenreid.

"No, Sir. In fact, I think is was likely an accident, one that caught them off guard. There was an explosion. I wonder if there are more bodies with the presses in the collapsed building…."

"Murdoch, so why not just get the plates or clean up the mess and move it to a new location?"

"I think they hoped to, but efforts to clean up the building would risk bringing the scheme to light, or the location of the press or damage to it was beyond recovery. I think they decided that letting the money percolate without discovery as long as possible was a better bet. I thought that if and when it is discovered, the criminals would have be long gone. It has been at least 3 months since the fire, and no one has reported the counterfeit money, at least not in the quantities I suspect. However, I now believe that because it has gone undetected, they are planning to restart the operation, emboldened perhaps by not being discovered or because my investigation was successfully stymied."

"So who is part of the conspiracy?" Brackenreid filled his cup again with the now stronger tea.

"I do not think it involves very many people, Sir. The secrecy has been too complete, indicating to me a small number directly involved. There may be others who are unwittingly part of it—perhaps not knowing the full story. I believe we will find a new operation at this address," he pointed to the chalk board where the second statistical anomaly was listed. "I believed the two men we found murdered last Monday were killed to silence them or even just because their services were no longer needed. Maybe some of the unwitting conspirators are trying to obstruct my investigation by putting negative ideas about me out to the Chief Constable or the Fire Chief or others. I even considered it was Miss Pearce agitating through a rich paramour…but these objections you have been warning me about started before she escaped…." Murdoch hesitated as he saw the other man's face work.

The inspector added in other information to which only he was privy, and an angry idea surfaced. "Murdoch, what are the chances someone higher up is pulling the strings or has another agenda going on? Someone like…"

"Terrence Meyers," William and Brackenreid said in unison.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Wednesday Morning

"Murdoch, I think you and me need to pay a little look-see to this second burned-out building. A visit to the armory perhaps on the way there?" The Inspector jammed his cap back on his head and put his discarded jacket and coat back on. "Come on. It's 5:00 am. Maybe we'll surprise them!"

"Just us, sir? Is that enough?" asked the detective, as he gathered his own coat and hat.

"Murdoch, if things are as you say they are, do you really want other eyes and ears to learn all that has been going on?...No, I did not think so."

The two of them woke up a driver and talked strategy on the way to the warehouse. Both checked and loaded shotguns before getting dropped a long block away from the building. Splitting up, each took an entrance to reconnoiter, neither seeing anything. "Sir, I think no one is there," William indicated the dark, empty windows.

"Only one way to find out, mate. I say we go in together, right through there, and see if that weaseling prick is behind all this" he pointed to a padlocked set of doors.

William nodded, checked his weapon and approached the door, sending a shell into the lock, shattering it and pushing the door open. There was very little light, but what was there made it obvious that the place was empty. The exterior of the building looked condemned, but inside was clean and dry. _Too clean and dry._ William could make out marks on the floor where several machines had stood, the smell of a solvent or perhaps inks lingering in the air. Acid was splashed on the floor obliterating staining. "Well, at least there are no bodies in this one," he remarked, but felt dejected that there was no ready evidence. He would have to come back in the morning with light and equipment, but….They had gotten away.

"Murdoch, over hear," Brackenreid motioned to his detective. "Will you look at that?" He pointed to an astray with a cigar stubbed out.

William came over and sniffed. "I recognize that noisome smell…"

"This from a man who sniffs corpses!" he said as he looked at the other man. "It's a joke, son!" he said to forestall any rejoinder from Murdoch.

They both whirled around, pointing the business end of their guns at a man approaching them through the back door.

"I wondered when you would get here," said Terrence Meyers in a cloud of cigar smoke.

Brackenreid restrained his detective only by stepping in from of him and brandishing the gun himself at Meyers and said, "What the bloody-Hell have you been at?"

"Oh, me? Why nothing at all—as you can see, nothing ever happened in this building and I was never here." Terrence Meyers deadpanned.

William charged him, coming within inches of his face. "I know all about the counterfeiting. What I don't know is why you are involved and for that matter how and why you took an opportunity launch an attack at me!"

Meyers puffed, and waved the cigar in a grand gesture. "Well, the answer is simple. We learned about the counterfeiting scheme and needed it to stay quiet. You were digging, threatening to upset the quiet, so you had to be blocked."

"You could have come to us," said Brackenreid.

"Matter of national security and all that…" Meyers tried to continue but William exploded at him.

"I don't buy that for a minute—why attack me, and my wife?" William shouted.

"Hey, it's nothing personal. I knew I could not attack your methods, so I had to go where you were more vulnerable—your reputation." He paused to let that sink in. "Just enough to make you cautious, lose the support of your Inspector, delay you for a bit." He grinned as if it was a joke between friends. "You _are _rather predictable, Murdoch. You just won't _stop!_ I fed information-true information by the way- to a few people. The things your wife was up to, that, er, dry spell in your marriage, your furtive comings and goings—all I needed to do was drop a little comment to some people, and let them, shall we say, misinterpret it a little, and then suggest they pass it on to Brackenreid here. I knew he," pointing at Brackenreid, "would try to restrain you, but also protect you if he could, so no harm done."

Both Brackenreid and William started shouting at once. Meyers said nothing, snake-eyed and expressionless as a statue while they finally ran out of anger and calmed down.

"Gentlemen, let me explain. The counterfeit money is in large circulation in the Ward. If it were to be discovered, there would be a riot unlike any you could imagine from any social unrest or anarchy movement. That is just one of the problems. Learning that there was counterfeit cash would undermine faith in the currency, and that would spread beyond the confines of the Ward to the whole city and possibly wider. The government could be destabilized. There would be runs on banks and gold reserves. Chaos, gentlemen, sheer chaos." He smiled expectantly, as if this would make it all better.

William noticed the smile did not reach Meyers' eyes. "Did you kill those men we found in the fire last week? They were the engravers, or printers, were they not?" he guessed.

"Yes, they were and no, I did not kill them. We were trying to get them to turn against the counterfeiters but the got caught and eliminated by the masterminds who suspected the gig was up, to tie up loose ends, as it were." He continued, "We have the presses, the plates and all the records of the gang, as well as the gang leaders in custody. We had them under tight surveillance, knew their every move, and acted promptly to clean up this mess," he made a circle gesture with his cigar, pointing around the room. "The counterfeit money will slowly come out of the community in small lots. We have a process to go through church collections for instance, weeding out and replacing fake money. We are buying up foreign cash and exchanging it for Canadian currency. No one will ever know the risk we have averted. But that's my job, fixing things from inside the shadows." Meyers tried to look heroic, but it did not really suit him.

Brackenreid turned to his companion, "Murdoch, I need to apologize to you. I should have trusted you. That's the second time this week I have made a mistake like that, and never plan to do it again." He looked back at Meyers.

"How did you know to move this material tonight?" Brackenreid wondered out loud. "And if you had such a tight bead on the gang, how come you did not protect your engravers-you must have known they were about to be killed."

"I have my own methods, Inspector." Meyers eyed Murdoch.

"You sodding prick! You used me! And I think you let those men die to protect your operation. You as good as murdered them yourself, and I am not so sure you did not do it or have it ordered done," Brackenreid shot back at Meyers.

Meyers shrugged. "I was hoping to get a few more weeks out of this operation, but you gave me more than three extra months. I think I owe you for that, actually Murdoch. That distracted a lot of people from looking too closely at the evidence. It was a job keeping you off balance. One mind working against the other, working against time…. I rather enjoyed it."

William nearly punched the man right in the face. "You _enjoyed _this?"

"Wait, Murdoch, don't punch him yet…I have an idea…." Brackenreid put a restraining hand on his detective's arm, and proceeded to tell Meyers a thing or two.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Wednesday Night

"So, William, did he try and kiss you too?" Julia was laughing at her husband's outraged expression. He was sitting on their couch next to her, his jacket and tie off with his hair uncharacteristically mussed from running his hands though it in dismay. He tried to explain his encounter with Terrence Meyers and the resolution of his case, but seemed he was failing to do so effectively.

"Julia that is… that is…." he sputtered. He was unhappy that his wife saw humor where he was not sure there was much. He tried to remain stern-visaged and disapproving, but her laughter and the absurdity was starting to infect him too. "Julia, it is not even remotely funny! Terrence Meyers interfered with my investigation, tried to sabotage my relationship with the inspector, and damaged my reputation…that high-handed, smug…" he almost said_ bastard_, before recalling he was with his lady and wife

"Bastard," she supplied for him. "Yes, William, he is that. But never the less it seems you have collected yet another nemesis. He certainly fits the psychological portrait. He is amoral, ruthless, and self-serving for all he claims to be operating for the greater good." She pulled him closer to her by his vest. "You know, you also turned that against him. He views you as a worthy opponent and for him to think he owes you, motivated him to agree to your request. I think it is brilliant that you got him to search for and possibly neutralize Miss Pearce for us. It will take someone as subtle and devious as he is to find her, and Terrence Meyers is very capable of cold calculation and manipulation."

"You forgot mendacity," William added, with a scowl for emphasis.

Julia agreed. "The best part is that Miss Pearce will never see that coming. Mr Meyers is more manipulative than even she is—she will have met her match in him, I'll wager. She will never expect you to take a back seat. It is completely unlike you to give up control like that…you have successfully attacked her weakness."

William saw her eyes sparkle and he finally relented. "Yes, I thought that was clever too. Inspector Brackenreid inspired me. So, you approve?" He had not told her everything about the friction with Brackenreid over the last several month and did not disclose the totality now. He also privately suspected Brackenreid withheld information from him for similar reasons.

"Yes, I think so." She shifted closer to him, and looked at the glass bowl that held a new little fish he had delivered to their rooms and had been waiting for her when she got home. It was a beautiful black color with long, gossamer fins. She was surprised and delighted and told him so, but had not really asked him what the occasion was.

He saw she was distracted by the gift. "Do you really like it?" he asked.

"Why, yes. But I wondered, what prompted this?" She thought it was significant.

"Julia, do you know gold fish can live as much as 20 to 30 years? I guess I was thinking that your office fish needed company, maybe looked lonely to me." He smiled and gazed over at her meaningfully.

She smiled back. _He is a quick study; awareness of a projection_. "I really am glad you got Mr Meyers to do something about Miss Pearce. Did you know that I was actually considering buying a hand gun and learning to shoot it?"

William was taken aback, the startled look on his face betraying him. "What? Why?" he asked.

"Oh, William, I am never going to be a victim again, I refuse. We are partners working this threat together and I will defend myself, and you, by any means necessary. That is something else Miss Pearce does not understand. But I do feel relieved that Mr Meyers might be able to locate her—he has spies everywhere and much more subtle and connected that she will ever be."

William brought his wife over into his lap to hold her. "Speaking of spies, you know, that is something I still don't understand. How did Meyers know so many things—and who does he have working for him—the hotel maid? Someone from the Station House? Someone from your political campaign?" He continued to allow the problem to work through his mind.

"It may be better to ask who is incorruptible," suggested Julia. "William, what is wrong?" she asked as he stiffened and his face changed yet again.

"Julia," he a said in a low voice, looking around the room. "You don't suppose he has listening devices in our suite, do you?"

"He what? In here?" Julia shot up out of his lap and stood. She put her hand up to her face, feeling the heat flooding there. "That would mean…" she whispered. She looked at William who was staring back at her.

"Yes, it would. That could be how he knew about some of your politics or suffrage sister's radical views," he said.

"No! William, that would mean someone was _listening to us_, our, er…intimacy."

"Well, Julia for several weeks…"

"But last Tuesday….well I supposed that was not very noisy, but last night!" Now_ she _was outraged.

William pulled her back onto his lap and gave a thin smile. "What's done is done. I am not sure the man is that evil. You and I are both tired, as we did not sleep at all last night. I will take this suite apart tomorrow looking for anything that would indicate he was spying on us. We have won today, my lady, and will have to be satisfied with that, for now." He turned to faced her. "Now, was there something you wanted to tell me?" He continued in a low voice.

"As a matter of fact…." She pulled his head close to her mouth and whispered. As she did his face reddened, but he tightened his grasp around her waist.

He smiled and sputtered again. "Where? Where did you want to do this?" and he laughed. Julia noticed he was intrigued. They looked at each other for a long, intense moment. He brought his lips to her ear and spoke softly.

"There? Oh, my yes, I think I certainly would," Julia gasped then giggled in return. "Something to look forward to."

Thank you Miss Fallenbelle2 for "The Reckoning," chapter 1, that inspired this writing fit.

Historical context notes: The internet is a wonderful thing. 1.) The July 1902 Feed Company Fire information is factual and taken nearly verbatim from several historical sources—I suspect a newspaper piece was original source material. 2.) Miss Haile's speech is quoted from an English-language socialist publication. In a June 1895 piece, she outlined her vision of the "new woman…" In the pages of _Justice_, she argued for a woman's right to discuss issues "in our own way, and see how they affect us and what we are going to do about it." 3.) See for information about the Morello family counterfeiting bust in 1902. All error and embellishments are mine.


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